


Blood and Honey

by pangodillO



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Blood, Cecil is Mostly Human, Comfort, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Fear Play, First Time, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Hand Feeding, Honesty, I will fight you for nonbinary Cecil, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, Kinky First Times, Kneeling, Obedience, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Praise Kink, Sub Carlos, Sub Drop, Subspace, Trust Kink, all Carloses are trans Carloses, crawling, switch Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangodillO/pseuds/pangodillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm nervous," Carlos admits.  "I... haven't done this much, and I want to be good for you—I mean.  I want it to be good.  I want to do well.  Don't."  He swallows.  "Don't say anything.  I just wanted to get that out."</p><p>He leans in to kiss Cecil's sharp mouth, and lets the kiss and their hands soothe him, relax him, ease him back into this moment.  He breaks the kiss and turns his face into their palm, then curls his head so that their fingers slide into his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oulfis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oulfis/gifts).



> SO [OULFIS](http://ao3.org/users/oulfis) IS A FABULOUS HUMAN BEING AND I ADORE HIM. And this might be my last chance to put up a present for him that he hasn't already read, so that's what I'm doing. Happy... birthday? MERRY JANUARY 21ST! I have no idea when your birthday is.
> 
> This is shameless, unadulterated kinky fluff, with just a bit of creepiness thrown in (it is Night Vale, after all). Therefore of course I came _this close_ to titling it "the moment of greatest despair". You'll see why... though not, I suppose, until I get chapter two live. The _actual_ title is a callback to the opener of episode 29 - Subway, which is a decent guess for the approximate time period of this piece.
> 
> This has not actually been properly beta'd, mostly because I don't know how I could let anyone but oulfis beta for me anymore (he RIPS ME APART, y'all, it's amazing, five minutes with him in one of my docs and I can feel the growing pains of becoming a better writer) and he's rather busy with 100k words of The AU No One Wanted as well as, you know, _life_. But I wanted to get something posted and this was mostly ready, so! Chapter two to follow shortly, I hope. In the meantime:

"Would you like to," Carlos says. He swallows, tries again. "Would you like to come up?"

Cecil's face lights up. To their credit, they don't look like they were waiting for him to ask. "I would love to!"

Carlos smiles, and then comes the awkward part: getting out of the car and indoors. He breaks eye contact with Cecil, wipes his palms (surreptitiously, he hopes) on his jeans, and then pulls the door handle.

Nothing happens.

"It's locked," Cecil says, helpfully. "Here, let me..." They flick a switch, the whole car goes _k-chuh_ , and Carlos tries again, feeling like an idiot. Feeling like even more of an idiot for letting it get to him.

It works this time, and he climbs out, and makes it to the front door of the lab, fumbling with his keys. While his face is turned away from Cecil he deliberately lets go of his strained smile, tries to breathe evenly, hopes that the permanent heat in his face might fade.

It does, a bit, but then they're inside, Cecil standing close by his back as he hangs his lab coat, and he realizes that _this_ is the awkward part—that it's all the awkward part, that everything is awkward because _he's_ awkward and it would all be fine if he would just _chill out_ and...

"Perhaps you'll show me what you're working on," Cecil says, softly, almost in his ear. "For the listeners."

"A-all right," Carlos says, because that's not why he brought them here but it's significantly less terrifying. He walks Cecil through the lab, showing them the ongoing experiments, the data collection, even (because Cecil seems interested, _genuinely_ interested not politely interested) the growth cultures in the incubator, which have been displaying a worrying amount of movement lately.

"Aww," Cecil says, bending down to peek through the glass. "Aren't they _cute_!"

"Um, cute, sure." Carlos clears his throat, and his eyes are drawn to the way Cecil's hand lands on their knee as they straighten, to the way their smile fades just briefly into a wince. "Um, can I get you—anything? A drink, or, or Ibuprofen? Do you want to go upstairs and sit down?"

"That would be delightful," Cecil says.

'Upstairs' isn't much: a single space delineated into kitchen and living space by a counter, and a short hallway leading into the one bedroom. Carlos sees Cecil seated on the sofa, starts the kettle, and searches the bathroom medicine cabinet for painkillers.  
When he comes back out, Cecil's got their shoes off, one foot pulled up into their lap. "I, um. I found Aleve," Carlos offers.

"Oh, good," Cecil says, reaching for it. "Aleve hardly ever manifests tentacles along my spine. I can't even take Tylenol anymore."

"That twisting can't be good for your knees," Carlos says, and takes the other end of the sofa. "Give me your feet, I'll rub them."

" _Really_?" Cecil's foot drops to the floor. "You'd do that?"

"Sure I would. Just tell me how you like it."

Carlos blushes, but Cecil doesn't seem to notice the innuendo; they swing their feet up into Carlos' lap and lean back against the arm of the sofa. "That's so kind of you to offer."

"It's not," Carlos protests, fitting his hand around the ball of their foot and squeezing gently. He's more protesting the tone in Cecil's voice than the content. "It's not some, some amazing thing, I just. I don't like to see you hurting. I want to help." Before he can stop it, he hears himself add, "Isn't that what a good boyfriend does?"

Cecil's face melts into adoration, and Carlos has to look away. "Is that what we are?" they ask, hushed. "Boyfriends?"

"Uh. I... If that's what you want to be? If you prefer some other word..."

"No," Cecil breathes. "No, 'boyfriend' is good. I would be delighted to be your boyfriend."

"Okay," Carlos says, still looking at his hands wrapped around Cecil's feet. He squeezes gently, and Cecil sighs, and the silence stretches on.

It's... okay. It's not anxious or awkward or tense; it's not even expectant. It's just: this, now, his hands and Cecil's feet and the new fact of _boyfriends_. Carlos slides his hands up inside the cuffs of Cecil's slacks, squeezing the taut muscle there, and judging by the noise they make, that's okay, too.

"Loathe as I am to spoil such a perfect moment," Cecil says eventually, "I feel we ought to talk."

"Oh?" Carlos manages, through his suddenly constricted chest.

"I did not come up with the intention of having sex with you," Cecil says. "It doesn't matter that it's our third date—nor, I hasten to add, the newly-negotiated 'boyfriend' label. I want to move only at a speed that is comfortable for you—that is comfortable for _both_ of us. Nevertheless, I think we should talk about it."

"Oh," Carlos says again. "I suppose... yes, clarifying expectations might be..."

"Please don't be anxious," Cecil says, sounding anxious themself. "I want you to know that anything, _anything_ you don't want to do is okay, I won't be upset and I certainly won't judge you."

"You..." Carlos swallows. "You know I'm trans."

Cecil blinks in surprise, and for a split second Carlos' gut lurches. Then they say, "Yes, of course. You've told me," as patiently and casually as they might have had Carlos instead said, 'You know I have a sister.' _Exactly_ the same, in fact.

More at ease now, Carlos says, "I don't like to be penetrated. I don't want to talk about or even _think_ about... that space. I'd just rather pretend it doesn't exist."

"Okay," Cecil says, like it's that simple. "Anything else?"

Carlos blinks and looks up. "What?"

"Is there anything else I should know?" Cecil repeats.

"...That's it?" Carlos shakes his head, disbelieving. "Just, 'Okay, anything else'? You're not going to, I don't know—ask for more, insinuate I'll change my mind, try to negotiate? Just 'Okay'?"

"Just 'Okay'," Cecil says, but their brows are drawing down and their voice has gone threatening, radio-dark like Carlos almost never hears in person. "But I think I might want to have some _words_ with your exes." For a moment, as they hiss the word 'exes', their teeth look sharp, even pointed.

"Hey, no, calm down," Carlos says, holding out a placating hand. "It's fine. I'm fine. People have fought with me but no one's traumatized me, okay? You don't need to ride to my rescue."

Cecil sighs, relaxing back into the sofa cushions. "You have the right to your own revenge-fuelled eviscerations, anyway," they admit. "I apologize. I... also wish not to see you in pain."

"I'm not in pain," Carlos says. He's not rubbing their feet anymore so he nudges them gently to the floor and scoots closer. "Your turn, I think; anything I should know about you?"

"I don't like having my genitals named," Cecil says. "I do like being penetrated but don't surprise me; I prefer to, you know, clean up first. In the middle of a flare-up I usually won't want to be touched at all."

Carlos has to shut his eyes for a moment against the image: Cecil spread out beneath him, opening up for his fingers, flushed and hard and... He shakes his head. "Um, okay. I can, uh, yeah. Good. I mean..."

Cecil chuckles, leaning closer as if for a kiss. At the last moment, they stop, and whisper against Carlos' cheek: "Do you want to penetrate me?"

Carlos clamps down on a squeak, and only the barest hint of it escapes. That's _the Voice_ again, the dark rich radio voice with a hint of threat—but just now it sounds more like a promise. "I... Yeah. Sorry, I..."

"Nothing at all to be sorry for," Cecil says, and kisses him. It's... _sweet_ , almost; a sharp contrast to the intense sexuality of a moment ago. Carlos finds himself relaxing, distantly amazed at Cecil's ability to put him at ease even as he gets lost in their mouth.

Their hand slides up his side, and down, and up again, long slow sweeping strokes that have him humming into the kiss and leaning closer. On the fourth stroke—or fifth, he's not really paying attention—Cecil's hand slips under his shirt, stroking over skin.

Carlos pulls away, pressing himself back against the end of the sofa. Cecil doesn't look hurt, doesn't look insulted; they put their hand in their lap and look at him curiously, without judgment.

"Sorry," Carlos says. "I mean—sorry. I didn't... I guess there's more I should talk to you about first."

"As you're comfortable," Cecil says. "For everything, Carlos. Don't forget."

"If I waited until I was _comfortable_ I would never do anything," Carlos points out. "Don't worry; I won't hesitate to shut you down if something crosses a line."

"As it just did," they acknowledge, inviting Carlos to explain himself.

Carlos drops his gaze. "I... I've had one surgery. I sort of _had_ to. But with student loans, and insurance and everything, and the recovery time... Well, I never managed to get the surgery I actually _wanted_. So." He shrugs. "I still have breasts. I understand if that puts you off."

"Should I not touch them?"

Carlos shrugs. "I don't mind, actually. I just... Didn't want to surprise you. Uh, here." He pulls his T-shirt off over his head, then reaches for Cecil's hands and places them over the Velcro fastening.

Cecil's breath catches. "Carlos...?"

"Go ahead."

Cecil peels the Velcro apart slowly, with trembling hands. The binder falls to the floor and Cecil hesitates, fingers hovering inches from Carlos' skin. "This is okay?"

"It's okay."

They touch, lightly, and trace one of the red imprint lines the binder always leaves. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Itches, sometimes. The lines will fade in a little while. Uh, hold on a second..." Carlos pushes Cecil's hand away gently, then scrubs his nails all over his chest, especially between and under. "Ugh, that's better."

Cecil reaches again, and Carlos drops his hands and angles his chest to let them touch. They cup one breast in their hand and nudge it gently, making it shake.

"Um, one last thing," Carlos says. "Since I forgot to mention earlier. I... My packer's just my packer. It's for show, like the binder. My dick is—the part actually attached to me. And 'dick' is the... least terrible word for it."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"No... Oh." Carlos smirks. "Just one thing."

"What's that?"

"I _did_ ask you up here to have sex, if you'd like."

Watching Cecil's reaction is _priceless_. Their eyes widen, mouth falling open before curling into a smile. "I would, in fact, like. I would very much like."

Carlos pulls them close and kisses them, framing their face in both hands. Their mouth opens under his, hot and wet and seeking, and—

"Ow!" Carlos pulls away, pressing a hand to his mouth; when he looks, there's a smear of red across his fingers.

Cecil scrambles to the far end of the sofa; there's a red streak across their lower lip, too. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you! I, I wasn't paying attention, I guess; I'll be more careful. Or leave! I can leave. I'm so, so sorry."

"Cecil, stop. It's okay." Carlos reaches for them, takes their hand and tugs them close again. "You didn't hurt me. Just startled me."

"You're bleeding," Cecil points out. "You, uh... don't generally enjoy that."

"Context matters," Carlos says mildly. "Can I look at your teeth?"

Cecil draws their lips back and bares their teeth. They're perfectly ordinary human teeth, flat and dull. Carlos hums to himself, forming an experiment in his head, and then leans in and kisses Cecil, slowly, paying attention.

Sure enough, there's a shift after a few moments. Carlos draws away and presses Cecil's lip up with his thumb. Beneath, he finds a mouth full of small, sharp teeth, triangular.

"They... change?"

Cecil nods. "I was my orthodontist's worst nightmare," they say, with this tone of offering, like any second they're expecting to be sent away. "Or, well—probably not really. It, uh, worked, though. Eventually." They flash a smile, showing how the two rows fit neatly together.

Carlos tongues at the cut on his lip. "You've had them all your life?"

"Well—once my baby teeth fell out, yes."

"And they come out when you're—aroused?"

"Or angry, or frightened. If I concentrate I can make them come out or go away at will." They demonstrate, letting Carlos watch the sharp points melt away into normal human teeth. "I can—I think I can keep them like this."

"Don't," Carlos says. "I trust you not to bite my lip off. But this," he swipes a thumb across his cut lip, "this is all right."

"It's... okay?"

"It's better than okay. It's _good_. I... I like it. I like the way you look with my blood on your mouth."

Cecil's pupils dilate. They smile, showing off a mouth full of sharp points. "If you stay with me for long, you'll scar."

The idea makes Carlos' dick pulse, makes his jaw go slack. "Uh," he says, and then, "We can cross that bridge when we get to it. Come here, _kiss_ me."

Cecil presses him back against the arm of the sofa, their body fitted to his, and bites gently at Carlos' lower lip. Carlos moans, letting them lick the blood off his mouth with—with a surprisingly rough tongue.

It doesn't matter. It's Cecil's tongue, and then Cecil's very human lips, and when they draw away their mouth is smeared with Carlos' blood.

"Fuck," Carlos breathes. "That is—you have no idea, that is so hot." Cecil grins, showing off blood staining their teeth, and then bends their head to mouth at Carlos' throat. " _Fuck_ ," Carlos says again, tilting his head back to give them access. "Fuck, Cecil, you could kill me right now and I'd be happy for it."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you," Cecil murmurs, but lets him feel the points of his teeth. "I'd rather keep you around."

Carlos moans without meaning to. " _Keep_ me," he breathes. "Fuck, Cecil, bedroom now. Please."

"I like you here," Cecil murmurs against his collarbone. Their hands encircle his wrists lightly. "Can I pin you?"

" _Please_ —"

And they do, and Carlos struggles against the grip, pulling and wriggling and arching his back to let Cecil mouth along his chest. Their teeth don't touch his skin again, but he feels the threat of them. Their tongue drags, curving under his breast and then flicking over a nipple.

"You are beautiful like this," they murmur against his skin. "You are beautiful always, my lovely Carlos, but _this_... I had no idea you'd be so... pliant."

Carlos whines and shifts his hips. "Please."

"Please what, Carlos?" They draw back and look at him, and for a moment he's caught, the bloodied mouth and concerned expression catching in his heart.

"I, I don't know," he manages. "I don't know what I want. You're, you're terrifying and you could destroy me and I'd let you, I didn't... I didn't know I could feel this way. _Want_ like this."

"We haven't negotiated," Cecil says carefully. "It's only our first time. I... wasn't expecting this."

"Neither was I." Carlos closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Do we need to stop and talk?"

"I think we can talk without stopping." Cecil shifts their grip on his wrists to lean in close and whisper into his ear. "I want to tie you down, see you helpless and struggling. I want to touch you, everywhere, just lightly, until you're begging me to give you some satisfaction."

"Fuck," Carlos breathes. "Yes. Please."

"Or maybe on your knees," Cecil continues. "My hands in your hair, holding you still while I fuck your mouth. Your hands at your back—not bound, but as good as, because I told you to leave them there."

Carlos shivers. It's not a bad image, but somehow... incongruous. "Not tonight?"

"What's not to your taste?"

"I would rather suck you off myself," he says, before he can lose his nerve. "But, uh... you can still have your hands in my hair, if—if you want." 

"Oh, I want." Cecil noses along the line of Carlos' jaw, a tender action made threatening by the fact of their hands on his wrists, their teeth so close to his jugular. "One more hypothetical, my dear Carlos, now that I have an idea how you feel about restraint, teasing, force, and obedience. Do you want me to hurt you?"

"I... I don't know. I think yes?" Carlos turns his face to rub his cheek against Cecil's hair. "I liked when you bit me, but..."

Cecil purrs, nuzzling in return. "No breaking skin, no permanent damage, no lingering marks?"

"Ah... Yeah. For today."

"Last thing, then. Do you have a safeword?"

"No. I've never done anything like this before." He licks his lips, and tastes blood. "Do I need one?"

"It's better if you have one. Red/yellow/green should be adequate." 

"Red/yellow/green?"

"Red for stop, yellow for slow down or take a break, green for everything's good."

"Right, okay." Carlos closes his eyes, kisses the nearest bit of Cecil he can reach (their ear) and drops his head back. "Green."

Cecil makes a surprised, choked-off noise. Their hands tighten around Carlos' wrists. "Keep these here."

"Mm-hmm."

"Good." Cecil frames Carlos' face in their hands and tilts it back, then fits their mouth against his throat. The tips of their teeth just brush his skin, and he dares not move.

This is mad. It's _dangerous_. One wrong move by either of them and Carlos could bleed out. But he keeps his hands where Cecil put them, puts his life in Cecil's hands. This is trust: giving Cecil the ability to hurt him, knowing that they won't.  
Their hands play him, stroking over his skin, plucking at his nipples, finding every sensitive spot above his waist. He moans and squirms, but he leaves his hands where they are, keeps his head at the angle they set for him.

"You are beautiful," Cecil breathes. "The way you obey me even when I haven't given you a direct order... Shh." Their finger presses over his mouth; their other hand tugs at his fly. "Don't argue with me. I know you're fat and scarred. I can see you. And you are _beautiful_."

Carlos makes a soft protesting sound, but doesn't speak; he knows what his body looks like, and supposes Cecil's allowed to think of it whatever they like. Instead he opens his mouth and licks at their finger.

"Lovely," they say, and press it deeper into his mouth, only to withdraw and wipe it off on his cheek. It's so unexpected, and _filthy_ , that Carlos' eyes fly open and he finds himself staring at the ceiling. Cecil chuckles. "You like that?"

"Uh-huh," Carlos manages. He ducks his head enough to swallow and then adds, "Green."

"Good." Cecil's hands land on his hips, fingers creeping under his waistband. "Lift up."

He lifts, and Cecil strips off his jeans, boxers and socks, all together. In the space of a moment Carlos goes from reasonably clothed to completely naked, and shivers.

"Are you comfortable?" Cecil asks, trailing a hand down Carlos' flank.

"Yes." Carlos could say more—about the ache building in his shoulders, about the hot coil of fear in his gut—not anxiety, not nerves, _fear_ —about the reaction he's having to the fear, his dick hard and the space behind it wet. He doesn't need to. Cecil already knows.

Cecil thumbs a nipple, then pinches it, giving it a slight twist as they release; Carlos can't stop a thin cry. Their mouth descends next, soft lips surrounding and then pointed teeth pressing into the sensitive flesh.

They do not bite down. Of course they don't. But they _could_ , and for an instant that thought is the only one on Carlos' mind.

Then they move on, mouth dragging downward over his belly. They let him feel the prick of their teeth, never cutting but always _there_ , threatening. They pause over the hysterectomy scar, laving it gently, and then work lower.

"Wait," Carlos says, surprising even himself.

Everything halts. Cecil's voice is gentle and warm as they say, "All right?"

"Yes, I." Carlos blinks at the ceiling. "I want to look at you. I want to watch."

"Ahh... Yes, you may look."

Carlos looks. Cecil is crouched— _knelt_ between his knees, flakes of blood still clinging around their mouth, their hands on Carlos' thighs. They grin at him, showing off the points of their teeth, and then bend their head.

It's just their lips at first, soft and wet and gentle. Then it's their tongue, too, long and prehensile enough to curl around his dick, rough enough to make Carlos whine with oversensitivity. And then they draw back their lips, with _intent_ , and Carlos whimpers with fear, drops his head back, does not pull his hips away—

—and the tooth that scrapes with the lightest touch over his dick is flat and dull, and he sobs with the relief, tilting his hips up. "Please," he begs, and means it. "Please, please, don't stop, please let me..."

Cecil sucks him enthusiastically, inexpertly—but it's enough, after all that, it's _enough_ and Carlos comes with half a scream. Cecil pulls off a little too early, and Carlos comes down twitchy and jittery, caught between feeling wrung out and wanting more.

"Come here," Cecil says, and Carlos drags himself up and flops over into their arms. They squeeze him tight, petting his hair and his skin and nuzzling their cheek against his head. "You okay?"

"Okay," Carlos mumbles. "Uh. Green. Yeah. S'good." He burrows into their chest, only now registering the fact that they're still fully clothed. It should matter, maybe, but it doesn't. "Do you want...?"

"In a few minutes, perhaps." Cecil tilts his chin up and wipes at his cheeks. "There you are. Will you be all right if I leave you for just a moment?"

"Yes? Why wouldn't I be?"

They make a noncommittal noise and reiterate, "I'll be right back. Just for a moment." With a last pat to Carlos' hair they pad into the kitchen. "Where do you keep cups?"

"Uh, not that cabinet—to your right. Yeah." Carlos curls up, feeling now the chill of being naked in an air-conditioned room, his eyes following Cecil. "What's the plan for the rest of the evening?"

"I'm going to get some liquid in you, and then we're going to move into the bedroom and recommence sexual relations. Um." Cecil blushes. "If you'd like. We can be done, if you feel done, of course."

"Will you stay?" Carlos feels his face heat at the needy tone to his voice, but can't bring himself to retract the question.

They smile at him across the countertop. "I would be pleased to stay."

 

Carlos drinks the tea Cecil makes, and the warmth of it seeps into him, something tight unwinding in his chest that he hadn't even been aware of. They move into the bedroom, and Cecil sees Carlos tucked under his softest blanket before they strip down and join him.

"Do you want to be finished?" Carlos asks, trying not to glance down where Cecil lies soft against their thigh.

"If you want to be."

Carlos shakes his head. "I... I thought I might. Suck you. If you wanted." Here's the awkwardness again, back in full force. "I mean... I can't, I can't do what you did, I don't know how to make it..."

"Shh," Cecil soothes. "Are you a switch?"

"Eh?" Carlos shrugs. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then it's not your responsibility to make a scene. That's mine. I think anything more in that vein should wait until we've had a chance to negotiate further."

"So...?"

"So if you wanted to suck me, I would be delighted." Cecil glances pointedly downward; Carlos' gaze follows. They're hard now, small and curving up toward their belly, and when Carlos looks up again there are pointed teeth in the smile Cecil gives him.

"I'm nervous," Carlos admits. "I... haven't done this much, and I want to be good for you—I mean. I want it to be good. I want to do well. Don't." He swallows. "Don't say anything. I just wanted to get that out."

He leans in to kiss their sharp mouth, now cleaned of blood, and lets the kiss and their hands soothe him, relax him, ease him back into this moment. He breaks the kiss and turns his face into their palm, then curls his head so that their fingers slide into his hair.

Cecil is only a little more than a fistful, not intimidating as Carlos wriggles down. He kisses first, openmouthed, tasting the velvet-steel flesh under his tongue. Cecil's hand follows him down, nestled in his hair, reminding him that he is loved.

Even if Cecil hasn't said so to his face yet. Even if Cecil hasn't said so since that first day he came to town. They're waiting for him, he knows, waiting for him to be ready to hear it. He's _not_ ready.

Still. It's good to feel it in the brush of Cecil's thumb over his forehead.

He takes all of Cecil at once, and they're a perfect mouthful, just nudging the back of his throat without cutting off his air. They let out a strangled sound, almost like pain, and their fist tightens in his hair.

He understands the basic mechanics of this, even if he hasn't done it in a while. Pressure and movement, right? Carlos braces his hands on either side of Cecil's hips and bobs his head, his confidence growing with the volume of the noises Cecil's making, with the way their hand clenches with his rhythm.

" _Masters_ , Carlos, slow—slow down," they gasp, and Carlos pauses, looks up, bats the blanket away with his hands. Cecil's eyes are shut tight, their jaw clenched, breathing ragged. "Don't move. Don't do anything. I don't want—not yet."

Carlos waits, and when Cecil's breathing has evened out and their face relaxed, he slides off. "Is there some reason not to?"

"Only that I don't want this to be over." Cecil blinks at him, dropping their hand to stroke a thumb over his mouth. "Masters of us all, Carlos, look at you. All spit-slick and swollen... Come here."

They pull him up over them, and Carlos goes, letting Cecil kiss and nip his mouth. He won't be drinking any lemonade for a while, but right now the sharp stinging points of pain are _delicious_. Cecil is hard and slick against his thigh, and he rocks against them, gratified by the way they lurch and bite into his lip harder than they meant to. His mouth fills with blood, and maybe they should stop and take care of this cut but he doesn't want to, doesn't want anything but this, and Cecil moaning his name.

"Cecil, can I..." Carlos reaches between them, guides Cecil between his thighs. They're still slick enough, and he's wet enough that the glide is smooth and easy.

"Carlos...?"

"It's okay. This is okay." Carlos shifts, bracing himself on his elbows, then crosses his ankles and squeezes his thighs. "You good?"

"Yes. _Masters_ , Carlos, yes, this is good." Cecil braces their hands on his hips. "Can I move you?"

"Yes. _Yes_." Carlos shifts with the movement of their hands, tucking his face down into their neck. His dick slides along their length with every slow stroke, and it's not long before he's shaking, their hands the only thing keeping him steady. He squeezes his thighs, and Cecil groans and twitches against him, flooding the space between his thighs with wet heat.

Carlos holds himself still, slightly off of Cecil, trembling with the effort. Cecil strokes with broad palms along his back and flank. "Okay, Carlos?"

"Okay," Carlos says into their neck. "Just..."

"What do you need?"

"Your hand?" Carlos twitches his hips; Cecil, softening, offers nothing to grind against.

They tuck their hand down, two fingers curling up into the space they had previously occupied. Carlos groans and rocks against the pressure.

"Do you want to lie down?" Cecil offers.

"No, just..." Carlos moans. "Almost, just, just stay..." It feels filthy and perfect, humping himself off against Cecil's hand while they lie sated beneath him. "I want... Will you tell me..."

"Tell you what?"

It's almost humiliating enough just to say it, and he's grateful to have his face hidden. "Tell me I'm greedy, tell me I'm..." There's more there, in his head, but he can't bring himself to say it.

"Oh," Cecil says, and then again, darker, " _oh_ , Carlos. My lovely, greedy Carlos. If you want it, you're going to have to work for it."

"I'm close, I'm close, can I can I can I _please_ —"

"What if I say no?"

Carlos whimpers into their neck, but forces his hips to still. He ought to beg, but he can't find any words.

"Oh, _Carlos_ ," Cecil breathes. "I could keep you here like this forever, couldn't I? Trembling and desperate and so delightfully _obedient_."

"Yes," Carlos breathes.

Cecil's hands tighten on his waist. "And one day soon, I will," they threaten— _promise_. "For now, my beautiful greedy boy, I want you to _come_."

With renewed fervor, Carlos presses down into Cecil's hand. He has permission now, not just to come but to _be this way_ , to be every part of what he is, and so he does: for now, for this moment, he is Cecil's beautiful greedy boy and he is going—

to—

_come—_

He sobs with it, shuddering, _overcome_ ; Cecil leaves their hand exactly where it is so he can get exactly as many shuddering aftershocks as he likes before pulling away, barely managing to aim himself at the mattress before flopping over.

"Carlos?" Cecil is up on their elbow, looking at him, worried—why?

"Yeah?" It's not till he hears his own voice that he realizes he's crying. "Oh, Cecil. I'm, I feel good. This is good."

He tilts his face into their hand, letting them wipe away the tears. "You are _wonderful_ ," Cecil breathes. "That was amazing, the way you stopped when I hadn't even properly told you to—that was good, that was okay?"

"S'good, Cecil," Carlos breathes. "Shh. We can have the play-by-play in the morning, okay?"

"Okay," Cecil reluctantly agrees. "For now...?"

"Just sleep, I think." Carlos wriggles a little. "I'm all slimy."

"So am I." Cecil laughs. "I'll get a towel...?"

"No, I will. I know where to look."

His legs shake when he stands. He wobbles into the bathroom and wipes off the mess on his thighs, then makes a halfhearted swipe at the blood around his mouth and crusted onto his neck. It's probably on the sheets, too. He doesn't care.

Cecil's eyes are closed when he gets back, but they blink at him as he gets close. They grin, and lift their hand to press a thumb against the corner of his jaw. "Missed a spot."

"I'll live," Carlos answers, turning his head to press a kiss into their palm. "Let me clean you up?"

"Mm, yes, if you like."

Cecil splays themself out across the bed, and Carlos starts with their hand, their semen and his slick combined and becoming sticky. He's meticulous, wiping delicately between each finger, and Cecil rewards him with a long, contented sigh. Next is their groin, and they shift their legs apart so he can chase down a trail of semen that slid toward their perineum.

Last, and with a clean corner of the towel, Carlos gently scrubs the blood from Cecil's mouth. They smile at him, and their teeth are flat and dull.

"This was... amazing," he says, shy, and kisses Cecil's clean, damp mouth. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Cecil answers. They stretch and yawn as Carlos climbs in beside them. "What do you need for aftercare?"

"Aftercare...?" Carlos burrows into Cecil's side, resting his head on their shoulder. "I don't think anything, besides this. Just, you know. Don't leave."

"I won't," Cecil promises, and snugs him close. "I'll be here when you wake up."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and some further negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: Yes, the chapter count's gone up by one. I decided to split the bulk of the negotiation into its own chapter; more porn incoming with chapter three, which will be the last chapter.
> 
> Second: This chapter mentions rape fantasy. It does not (and nor will chapter three) describe it in any kind of detail, and everything that does happen is explicitly consensual.

Cecil is there when Carlos wakes up, warm and solid and snoring softly. They've wrapped themself around him, their chest pressed all along his back, and he drowses in the warm comfort for a while, until his bladder demands he empty it.

He leaves a note for Cecil, then slips next door to pick up a cup of coffee from Big Rico's; he doesn't drink coffee, doesn't own a coffeemaker, but Cecil will want some.

They're still sleeping when he gets back, so he leaves the coffee on the side table and a kiss on their temple and goes to scramble some eggs.

They shuffle in, coffee in hand, just as he's starting on the bacon, and he lets them kiss him before shooing them off to the table. "Toast?"

"You are an _angel_ ," Cecil mumbles. "Metaphorically. Angels aren't real, but you are. Wait— _toast_? Carlos..."

"It's, uh. Wheat-free?" It isn't; it's homemade, smuggled in after Wednesday's visit home to his sister. Definitely contraband, but also has yet to turn into snakes and try to eat him, so he thinks it's probably all right. 

It's also almost gone, and breakfast with Cecil on their first morning-after seems like a good use for the last of it.

"Bacon and eggs and toast," Cecil mumbles as Carlos slides a plate in front of them. "And _coffee_. How are you a real person? Are you sure you're not a fever-dream or a hallucination?"

"If I were, I would certainly say I wasn't," Carlos says, and immediately regrets it when he sees the way Cecil's face falls. "Cecil, no, I'm real, of course I'm real. You didn't make yourself bacon and eggs and toast, after all." He takes their hand, rubs his thumb over their knuckles. "You certainly didn't get yourself coffee from Big Rico's, not dressed the way you are. _Aren't_."

"I could have undressed again," Cecil says, but doubtfully.

"You'd have marks on your skin, from your clothes," Carlos points out. "You _do_ have marks on your skin, but they're from the sheets. My sheets, that you slept in last night, because we had two rounds of absolutely fantastic sex."

Cecil's pupils dilate. "Yes, we did. I couldn't make that up."

"And if you're up for it, after breakfast we can have round three." Carlos grins across the table, sliding his toe up Cecil's ankle.

"We should talk, first." Cecil's voice is steady, but the way their eyes go half-lidded belies their true feelings. "Do you have to be anywhere this morning? It's probably best if we have a decent chunk of time in which to negotiate."

"Oh. Well... I need to be at the lab by noon, to check on those cultures. That shouldn't take long, though. If we're still talking, you can come with me if you like, make sure I don't get distracted by Science."

Cecil smiles, a slow warm curve. "That's good. I don't need to be at the station until this afternoon, so we should have plenty of time."

 

They settle on the sofa, angled towards each other. Carlos gestures at Cecil's feet and they swing them up into his lap. Carlos, looking at his hands rubbing Cecil's arches so as not to look Cecil in the eye, admits, "I... I really don't know where to start with this. I've never done anything like this before."

"I want to start with last night, anyway," Cecil says. "Just sort of... go over everything that happened, how it affected us." 

Carlos chuckles. "I didn't know I was being literal, when I said 'play-by-play'. So... just start at the beginning?"

"Mm, no, I think... What was your favorite?"

Carlos opens his mouth, and then shuts it, and then opens it again. "My favorite _moment_ , or...?"

"Or," Cecil says. "Definitely 'or'."

Carlos slides his hands up along Cecil's calf and squeezes gently. "I liked... not having to think. Knowing that what I was doing was the right thing, because it was what you'd told me to do. It was... calming. I can't, usually I mean, I can't make my mind shut up or stop worrying, and being able to just lie back and know it was okay, to relax and just _feel_ for once..."

"Is that the core of submission, for you?"

Carlos shrugs and nods, still not looking up. "I think so. I just... I was so awkward last night, and anxious, and they feed into each other in this awful feedback loop, and... it was just, good, to have that taken away for a little while."

"You're not going to be easy, are you," Cecil says, and their voice is warm but the words make Carlos flinch.

"I'm sorry, I know it's selfish, I don't want to put all the work on you, I—"

"Shh. Carlos. It's all right." Cecil is close now, their hands on his chin, tilting his face up and making him look at them. "This is what I like, too. I like taking care of you, and I like doing that work. Okay?"

"Okay." Carlos nods. "Just... you'll tell me if I ask too much, right?"

"Of course I will. As will you, all right?"

"All right. Fair."

"Good." Cecil settles back against the other end of the sofa. "That's the core of my dominance, just so you know. And my submission. I am protective, I want to make sure everybody has what they need to be comfortable and happy."

"That sounds..." Carlos bites his lip. "Not very dominant?"

"I am as dominant as my partner needs me to be." Cecil shrugs. "There are things I won't do, of course. Like kill you, or even pretend like I want to kill you. For me, dominance and submission come from the same place; they just take different forms."

"I don't think I could do that. Dominate you, I mean. I'm sorry."

"Carlos."

Carlos goes quiet.

"I won't tell you to stop apologizing. I will tell you that there is no need for you to be sorry. I will never ask you to apologize for what you are or what you can't do. You are _enough_. You are good enough. Just the way you are."

Carlos ducks his head, tears stinging at his eyes. They're simple words, but they're _getting_ to him. Maybe it's Cecil's voice—not their radio voice, just a strong earnest _honest_ voice, one that demands to be believed.

"Carlos? Will you look at me?" A pause. "Or say something? Just... let me know you're all right?"

Carlos shakes his head, reaching blindly for Cecil. They reach back, taking his arms and pulling him close and wrapping him up. "You're all right," they murmur into his hair, their hands running up and down his back. "You're okay, I've got you, I'm here. You're safe."

"I don't know why," Carlos says, interrupted by a hitch in his breath that he refuses to call a sob. "I don't know why I'm feeling—like this. So much."

"I think you're dropping," Cecil says. "You're fed and hydrated and warm—are you warm?"

Carlos nods against their chest.

"So I don't know what else to do for you, except to hold you until it passes."

"Tell me what it is. Dropping. What does that mean?"

"I can't explain it scientifically, of course." Cecil nuzzles into Carlos' hair. "It's a hormonal crash. We had a good scene last night and all your brain hormones were up and good and happy, and now that's wearing off. It's normal, but unpleasant."

Carlos nods again, and breathes. "I'll be all right, then."

"You should be, yes. It might be minutes or hours from now."

"But now I understand, and that's easier." Carlos wriggles a little, settling himself more comfortably across Cecil's lap. "This okay? "

"Very okay." Cecil squeezes gently. "Keep talking?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You told me your favorite thing; what was your favorite single moment?"

"Oh." Carlos turns his face into their chest. "At the end. When you told me to come. I felt... okay, for once. Like there was nothing wrong with the way I am. I was just... yours." He puts a hand up to Cecil's face and lifts his head to meet their eyes. "Don't be mad, okay? No one made me feel that way. It's just the way the world is. I know better than to believe there's something wrong with me."

"I," Cecil says slowly, "am not mad." Their voice has teeth in it. They stroke his hair for a moment, then add, thoughtfully, "You liked being praised, too. Yes?"

"Well, yes," Carlos says, laying his head down again. "Who wouldn't?"

"You know what I meant," Cecil says, faintly admonishing. "You like it when I tell you you're lovely, and beautiful, and good. You liked it when I praised your obedience."

"I... Yes."

"You like doing things for me, too," they go on, voice rumbling through their chest. "You rubbed my feet, and made breakfast. You cleaned me off, afterward."

"Yes. But that wasn't... It wasn't sexual. Any of it. It was just... Peaceful. And breakfast was for me, too."

"So there's no element of service to your kink?"

"I..." Truthfully, Carlos has never considered service before; he likes to do things for people, sure, but that's just part of living in a world with other people in it, part of being a good sexual partner. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily... I don't know. Maybe we could experiment with it? Later." He frowns. "Come to think of it... should we be taking notes? I don't know how much of this I'll remember, later."

"If you like. It's hardly a requirement. –Actually, if you wanted to approach it scientifically, there are resources for that."

"There are?" Carlos perks up. "Like what?"

"There are places to print out lists of ideas and rate them, or to arrange them into categories of 'want, will, won't'—that is, specific desires, things you will accept, and things you absolutely will not do."

"It's missing a category," Carlos points out

"Oh?"

" _Experiments_. Like service. Things we're not sure how to categorize. Although you've got a file in your head on me already, haven't you? From last night. Restraints, obedience, teasing."

"Only tentatively," Cecil says. "You like teasing. You like being a little bit afraid, though—and I am honored to be this person for you—I suspect it would only work with someone whom you trust completely."

"Yes," Carlos agrees. "Yes, I—it's not the idea that you _might_ hurt me, it's the idea that you _could_. But I know you, I know you won't." He tongues the deepest cut on his lip pensively—the others are just little nicks, already sealed up and healing, but this one will take a few days to fade. "Where should we look for these lists?"

"You have a personal computer?"

Carlos fetches his laptop, and Cecil does some Googling before handing it back.

"Some of the things on this list are pretty extreme," they warn. "And it's not a list I wrote, so—don't take them as requests, okay?"

"Okay." Carlos leans against Cecil's side and starts reading through. "This would be easier on paper... and technically this is something we should both be filling out and then comparing, right? There's a printer in the lab."

 

The checklist is seventeen pages long, and intimidating. There are far too many variations on things like bondage or beating that Carlos doesn't know enough about to specify. Canes or whips or floggers? It's too much pain, all at once, for him to consider the nuances.

He scribbles notes in the margins, things like "safety?" or "this could actually be okay, with you". Upon seeing 'Bondage – Breasts' he laughs, and adds the note "did you mean: My Life" and calls it a soft limit.

There are items that make him pause and color up, throat closing up at the thought of Cecil watching him mark down 'curious about'. But honesty is paramount, so he does, and shuffles those pages to the back as soon as he can.

It's kind of nice, actually. Self-reflection in the form of numbers and qualitative statements, with Cecil pressed up next to him making considering noises and scratching across the page with one of Carlos' illegal pencils.

Carlos tucks page ten into the back and scans down page eleven—and stops.

_Rape fantasy_.

With deliberately even motions, Carlos straightens the little stack of pages, sets it off to the side, and lays his pencil across it.

"Are you finished already?" Cecil asks, glancing over. "I'll be just another minute or two."

"No," Carlos says, distantly surprised by how normal his voice sounds. "I'm just... getting a drink. Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks."

Carlos can't hide in the kitchen the way he wants to; Cecil's sure to notice if he braces his hands on the counter and forces himself to breathe evenly. So instead he does what he said he was doing, focusing on the actions to distract from the riot in his brain: cupboard, glass, ice, water, drink.

His hands don't shake. That's an accomplishment.

He goes back and sits down, and Cecil's arm tucks around his shoulders as though everything is all right. Everything _is_ all right. It _is_.

He works from the bottom up. Roleplay-Interrogation and Roleplay-Education are both hard limits for different, but similar reasons—too much like real life to be sexually exciting. Photos and video to be shared is a hard limit, but photos and video for private use is a curiosity. Gang rape is a hard limit, and then he skips _that_ one and fills out 'phone sex' with "I'd rather just be with you".

And then there's nothing left but to skip it or address it. He has skipped one other thing—discipline—with a note saying "too complex", but that one he feels prepared to talk about. He thinks he could look Cecil in the eye and tell them "I want to try this but I'm afraid it will feel too real" about _that_.

He doesn't know how to say the same thing about this.

"Are you all right, Carlos?"

"What, yes! Why? I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been staring at the same page for five minutes," Cecil says dryly.

Carlos sighs. "I don't know what to do with this one."

"Mark it as 'too complicated' and we'll talk about it?" Cecil suggests.

"I don't know how to talk about it," Carlos says. "I don't know how to—admit it."

"There's no need to be ashamed of any of this," Cecil says gently.

"I'm not ashamed," Carlos says. "I _want_ it. And I'm terrified."

"Hmm." Cecil strokes through Carlos' hair. "How about 'to be revisited in the future', then? And in the meantime I'll treat it like a limit."

"Okay." Carlos nods, leaning into their hand. "Okay, yeah. That works." 

He fills that in, even though Cecil will know exactly which item it was that frightened him—it's something they _should_ know, he thinks. The rest goes quickly, even with him pausing to comment on nonbinary erasure and the entry on "Vanilla sex"—'this is so vague as to be meaningless,' he writes, and scratches out the question.

"There," he says, casting his pencil down. "Finished."

"It's nearly noon," Cecil says. "Shall we descend to the lab?"

" _Yes_ ," Carlos says with relief. "I could use a break. This is... this is good, talking about things, and everything, it's just... emotionally exhausting."

"It becomes easier as you get used to it," Cecil says, and brushes a kiss over his forehead. "Let me get dressed, then, and we'll go."

The completely nonsexual context helps. It also helps that it's Carlos' home turf, his workplace and his passion and his first love. They spend something like half an hour in the lab, Cecil just sitting and watching, Carlos checking on things, taking some readings, telling data to compile. The conversation is exclusively about science, and while Carlos can't explain everything he's doing to Cecil, it's nice to feel like he knows what he's talking about for once.

"What time did you say you have to be at the station?"

"I don't think I did, but I should leave in about half an hour."

Carlos shakes his head. "Work on a Sunday," he teases. "What are you doing afterward?"

Cecil smiles shyly. "If you don't object to yet more talking about sex, perhaps you could come over? I believe it's my turn to make you a meal. We can talk more about what's on those checklists."

"And maybe try some of it out?" Carlos adds hopefully.

"Oh, _no_ ," Cecil says mournfully. "I'm not going to be able to focus at _all_ today." They kiss Carlos, hard, their big hands framing his face. 

Carlos hums into it, lets Cecil leave new pinpricks over his mouth. When they break apart, he says, "I like that. When you hold my face like this." They stroke back over his hair, and he leans into it. "Maybe I just like your hands."

"I could do so much to you with these hands," they breathe.

Carlos shivers. "So... you said half an hour?"

 

Cecil leaves five minutes late, disheveled, hands still wet from the hasty post-sex wash. Carlos lounges naked in bed for a while, grinning, before getting up and taking a shower. 

Cecil's left both sets of the checklist here. Carlos isn't sure if that was an accident or intentional, but he doesn't intend to let the opportunity slip past him. Still naked, he lounges on the sofa and reads over Cecil's answers, compares them to his own. Makes notes on separate paper. 

Turns out Cecil _does_ have an understanding of the nuance of different instruments of beatings. They like barehanded spanking, have never before but would like to try beating with a hair brush, have a slight preference for floggers over paddles and, under Whips, have written, 'I don't have the skill to safely wield a whip but I could learn if you wanted.'

As for various iterations of bondage, they've put stars over 'Intricate bondage' with the single-word notation 'shibari' and then, beneath it, 'I can't sit still for this but I love putting it on others'. Beneath both 'Bondage – Suspension' headings, they've written, 'beyond my skill level', which makes Carlos feel justified in the 'safety??' note he'd left there on his form.

There are points of tension: Cecil's marked 'choosing your clothing' as a 4—something they like—where Carlos called 'having my clothing chosen' a soft limit. Same for choosing food—Cecil wants to, and Carlos considers it a limit. Neither is marked on Cecil's form as essential, though...

In fact, Carlos finds nothing marked on Cecil's form as essential. Carlos marked down a couple things—masturbation, for one, and the right to give Cecil a massage. But there's _nothing_ on Cecil's. Not even 'hair pulling', which is marked as an enthusiastic 5. Carlos marked a similarly enthusiastic 4.5 on having his hair pulled, so he feels they're all right on this one, but the fact that even this adored thing isn't essential to Cecil...

They'll have to talk about it, is all. That's the point.

To his surprise, Cecil actually left no critical comments on 'vanilla sex'. They gave it a 3.5 rating and added, 'it's not that I don't like it, it's just that I like everything else so much more.'

Cecil has entirely blacked out the 'Shaving – Head' box. That's okay with Carlos; he wrote HAHAHAHAHA all over his and marked it as a hard limit. 

To his surprise, Cecil has marked off being urinated on as a thing they've done... and marked off urinating on another as something they're curious about

Well. That's an impressive bit of serendipitous compatibility.

Carlos finds himself feeling shifty and tense, and tucks his notes and the checklists into a folder together rather than, for instance, researching 'shibari' on the internet. Instead he gets dressed, goes downstairs, lets himself get absorbed in an entirely different set of analyses and comparisons.


	3. Chapter 3

After a brief texted exchange during the weather, Carlos packs up his science and makes his way to Cecil's, empty-handed except for the folder of notes and, somewhat optimistically, a change of clothes. He offered to bring wine, but Cecil declined with a winking emoji and 'Kink and alcohol don't generally mix.'

Which. Fair enough.

Cecil's not home yet when he gets there, so he sits on his trunk and waits, glancing once more through the checklists and wishing he'd brought a pencil—wishing that having brought a pencil wouldn't get him arrested and re-educated.

He puts everything away when he sees headlights, slowing to turn into the space beside his. The headlights flick out, leaving him blinking against the darkness, and Cecil bounds out of the car and to him with an exclaimed, "Carlos! How long have you been waiting?"

"Only a few minutes." He slides off the trunk, leans up to kiss them hello. "How was work?"

"Weren't you listening?" Cecil says it without accusation or reproach, only surprise as they lead him into the building and up the stairs.

"It was playing. I was more luxuriating in the sound of your voice than actually listening, though." Carlos follows, taking a moment to stare unabashedly at Cecil's ass and then watching instead their gait, the curve of their spine and the flex of their knees.

They're moving easily, unbothered by the climb, and even bouncing a little as they talk about some adorable thing Khoshekh's kittens have been up to. Not a bad pain day, then, Carlos notes, and relaxes into the idea of letting Cecil cook him dinner.

"You left both checklists at mine, when you left," he says, as the apartment door closes behind them.

"Yes, I thought you'd want to look at them alone for a while first. Is that all right?"

"Oh." Carlos finds himself smiling helplessly. "Yes. You were right. How do you always know these things?"

"I look for them," is all Cecil says for answer. "Sit down, put your things down. That's, uh, that's not an order! Just a suggestion."

They're blushing bright red, hands curling at their sides, and Carlos knows they'd like to be covering their face. But they aren't; they're letting Carlos look, letting him see their embarrassment. And because of that, he takes a moment to actually consider the idea.

"I wouldn't mind if it was," he says finally, and sets his bag on the floor, out of the way, before making his way to sit at the kitchen table.

"Not that I thought you would," Cecil says, and follows him into the kitchen. "But we haven't actually agreed on anything yet. That's, um, something the checklists didn't cover."

"What is?" The checklists felt pretty comprehensive to Carlos, but then, he's new to this.

"Do you mind if I work while we talk?" Cecil flutters around the kitchen, not giving Carlos a chance to answer. "Some people only want this, this sort of thing, kink, in relation to sex. Some people want it always, as a constant and absolute part of the relationship." They glance over their shoulder, an apologetic look melting away into affectionate concern. "Don't worry! I'm not—I couldn't keep that up."

Whatever Cecil saw on Carlos' face to prompt such a reassurance, it's not particularly soothing to think in the other direction, either. "Not that I quite understand what you mean—some of this stuff seems pretty exclusively sexual to me—but couldn't there be a way to strike some kind of balance? Not _always_... but not just in the bedroom, either?"

"Sure! Of course!" Cecil brightens. "Most people do. We'll find the level that works for us, Carlos, of course we will."

Carlos nods. "It's fairly easy to see... some of these things. Outside the bedroom, I mean. Like service." He breathes, and makes himself go on. "I do feel like I keep coming back around to that one. And I do. Want to, I mean. Do that. For you. Want to... I don't know, rub your feet, run your baths, cook your meals. Not always, I... I can't commit to always, but. Sometimes. Often."

"You're nervous," Cecil says

Carlos laughs. "Well, yes? Of course I am. This is nerve-wracking. I've never been so... _known_ , before. Never wanted to be."

Cecil sets down the saucepan they've been considering and sits across from Carlos. "We don't have to do this. Any of it. If this is... intimidating, or anxiety-inducing, then—"

"No." Carlos reaches for their hands. "No, I _want_ this. All of it. It's anxiety-inducing to open myself up like this, of course it is—but it's _you_ , Cecil. I trust you. And... you make it easier to talk about. All..." He blushes, makes himself meet their eyes anyway. "All patience and understanding and gentle guidance. I know that this domination, power exchange, whatever—hasn't properly started yet, but I feel it anyway. And I, I'm so out of my depth, I have no idea what I'm doing, but I like it and you make me feel safe."

Cecil twitches a tentative smile across the table at him and squeezes his hands.. "We are never safe," they contradict, inviting him to clarify.

"Not that kind of safe," Carlos says. "You make it—just— _okay_. To be like this. I know you might not want everything I want—I _know_ you don't, I've seen the checklists—but I also know you won't... look at me. You won't be disappointed, or, or anything. It's safe to tell you this." 

"Of course I won't be," Cecil breathes, a hint of that look on their face. "Of course it is."

"You don't have to be angry," Carlos points out gently. "There's no one in my past who's mistreated me, Cecil. It's not that someone's scared me off sharing, it's that there hasn't been anyone to share with."

"No one?"

"No one like you." He strokes his thumbs over their knuckles and smiles. "No one I trust like you."

There's more, lurking in the back of his throat; he swallows it down. It's not time yet. He's not _sure_ yet. He thinks it might be time soon, thinks it's very likely he'll be sure soon, but not yet.

Cecil beams at him like he's said it anyway. "I am so—honored, and grateful, and..." They see the way Carlos blushes and ducks his head, and reign in the worshipful tone. "Pleased, to be that person for you. Pleased that you have such a person."

"It could only be you," Carlos says, and with a last squeeze releases their hands. "So, you were cooking, and I was talking about service..."

"Yes." Cecil gets up again, returns to the stove. "I would like that. Though I'd like to return the favor, too."

Carlos frowns. "I don't... I mean. I thought we'd established I'm not a dom."

"Oh, you wouldn't need to be! I like service-topping too. I like _taking care of_ ; I can do it in either role. Or neither role. Imagine:" They take a breath and draw themself up, and when they speak again it's with faint shades of their radio voice. "Coming home—or, coming here, I mean—you're tired, it's been a long day. You just want not to think for a little while. But maybe we had plans, so you come here, even though you're maybe half-wishing you could just go home and spend the night alone, regrouping." They pause, and glance back over their shoulder. "Is this okay, should I...?"

"Please," Carlos manages.

"So you're tired and it's not that you don't want to be here, it's just that being a good boyfriend takes _attention_ and _energy_ and you haven't got any of that to spare tonight. But I know you, I see it the moment you come in the door. Maybe we have a signal, or maybe I ask you outright: let me take care of you, let me take over everything."

They pause, and Carlos realizes they're waiting for him to agree. "Yes," he breathes.

"So I take your bag, and your coat, and I touch your hair and tell you it's all right now, there's nothing left to worry about. I want to put you under a little bit, and—obviously I'm fudging specifics here a little bit, I don't know what might work for you, but generally it's all about the right affectionate gestures and the tone of voice."

"You're good with your voice," Carlos murmurs.

He can't see Cecil's face from here, but they sound pleased. "And I don't think you'll need much convincing, in this state. Come and sit down, let me take your shoes. Are you hungry? Of course you are, you probably missed lunch. Shh, no, it's all right, everything's all right now." Their voice is a lovely soothing croon over the quiet noise of their cooking, and Carlos finds himself floating in it. "I don't want you to talk unless I ask you a question, or you need to safeword; I want you not thinking, not worrying. Just sit here and relax, let me make you something."

"Like now," Carlos says, testing the unreality of Cecil's statements, making sure the scene they're describing is _like_ now but not actually now.

"Like now," Cecil agrees. "So far. No, you don't get to help, not tonight; so sweet of you to offer. Sit still, or as still as you like; relax. Maybe while it's simmering I'll stand behind you and rub your shoulders. Pet your hair, and cup a hand around your throat just for a moment, to remind you who's in charge, to remind you that you don't have to worry. Feel you relax under my hands, and tell you _good_ , breathe it over your ear and watch you shiver."

Carlos shivers. Of course they can't see him shiver; they're facing away. But when they go on, there's a certain satisfied tone in their voice:

"It feels so good to watch you relax and start to float. If this were real I would know which you'd prefer but now I have to ask: would you rather have your own fork, or shall I feed you?"

"Oh," Carlos says, and startles himself by saying, "On—on the floor? I mean, me, on the floor. On my knees, next to you?"

Cecil hums, pleased. "You'll have a cushion, of course. There's to be no pain for you tonight. You're to be comfortable. Let me feed you, then, and pet your hair and tell you how lovely you look, and how good you're being. You sweet tired thing, you deserve every moment of this. Feel how each bite nourishes you; let me hold a glass to your lips and feel the cool water soothe you."

"And then what?" Carlos has his eyes closed, seeing the scene as Cecil describes it, almost feeling the cool of the water on his lips. "After dinner."

"Then I take you to sit on the couch, and rub your feet; or else to the shower, and wash the day's problems away." Cecil touches his hair, and Carlos jumps, eyes flying open again. "You're slipping under now, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Carlos says, tilting his head into their touch.

"Don't—" Cecil says, and then hesitates. "You're not, though, are you..."

"Not what?"

"Playing coy. Of course you aren't." They stroke his hair back from his face with gentle fingers. "When I say 'float', or 'go under', I mean subspace: the state of mind that comes with being in-scene. It, in my experience it varies in intensity and—there's sort of types, I suppose; there's the kind where I want to _do_ , and the kind where I want to lose myself and _feel_."

"I just want to _be_ ," Carlos says. "I don't feel floaty, just... calm and safe and quiet."

Cecil hums, twisting a lock if Carlos' hair so that it just tugs at his scalp. "Dinner will finish itself," they say. "Why don't we come into the living room, and you can sit at my feet and hold on to that feeling for a little while, while I look over the checklists?"

Hardly a minute has Cecil seated in the armchair, Carlos on his knees at their feet, a cushion from the sofa under him. Cecil strokes idle fingers through his hair as they shuffle through the pages of the checklists.

"You have a piercing?" Cecil asks, at one point.

"Did. Ears. Closed up, though. You can still see where they were if you look close."

"That explains that." They lapse into quiet again, and then, "Scars and teeth?"

"Mm."

"Carlos, you wanted to talk about scars and teeth."

"Mm-hmm. Oh, yes." Carlos chuckles. "Maybe I do know what you mean by subspace. Um, I think I just wanted to tell you, I like the idea of you leaving scars, little ones, around my mouth. But nothing else."

"I think I'll ask you again when you're not floating," Cecil murmurs, amused.

"There's notes, too," Carlos says. "Some things I wrote down a little more about, when I saw what you'd said about them. That might've been one. Made some notes of things to research, too."

"Like shibari," Cecil says, shuffling pages. "Mm, and bondage sleeves. I don't _have_ any bondage sleeves, though I can do a sleevelike tie..." They let out a startled laugh, and then bend to press a kiss into Carlos' hair. "You are a delight."

Carlos hums, pleased with the praise and not concerned with why.

Some time later, Cecil says, "Carlos? About tape. There are tapes for bondage that don't stick to skin or hair; would that be acceptable?"

"Mm-hmm. Yes, I want to try everything."

"Duly noted." They go quiet, and turn a page, and their breath catches. "Oh," they say regretfully. "Carlos, I will not choke you."

"I don't want you to? I don't even remember choking being on the list..."

"Breathplay. Asphyxiation."

"Oh..." Carlos rolls his head on Cecil's knee to look up at them. "Not choking, then. But—"

"Not plastic bags, either, Carlos. I will not risk your life."

"No—plastic bags? _No_." Carlos sits up, some of his calm soft feeling falling away. "I understand there's a safety concern. The way I imagined it, you'd have your hands over my mouth. And I didn't imagine cutting off air entirely, I. I thought."

"Go on," Cecil says gently.

"I thought you'd breathe for me," Carlos admits. "Pinch my nose and, and with your mouth over mine, and I... I liked the thought of breathing air that had been in your lungs. Air that you allowed me, and no other."

Cecil still looks troubled, but they nod and say, "All right. I'll—think about it."

"I don't need it," Carlos says, laying his head down against their knee again. "By now you must have seen about choosing clothes for me. I know you wanted that and I know you must be disappointed, but I also know that you're not angry or upset with me, and that you won't ever press me for it. Give yourself that same respect, okay? I liked the _thought_. I don't need the reality."

"All right," Cecil says again, and strokes one hand through his hair. Carlos makes a small pleased noise and closes his eyes, sinking into that quiet space of just being.

Cecil asks him about things, answers questions, pets his hair. In between they're quiet, and Carlos stays quiet too, content. Eventually, an alarm goes off in the kitchen, and Carlos blinks his eyes open in confusion.

"Dinner," Cecil says, setting aside the papers. "Carlos—oh, you're well under, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Carlos muses, not particularly concerned. "I'm happy."

"Will you be all right here on your own, just for a moment?"

"Course I will. Why wouldn't I be?"

Cecil doesn't look as reassured by that as Carlos thinks they should be, but they give his hair a final touch and murmur, "Just for a moment. I'll be _right back_." As though Carlos might forget, might think they've left him forever.

He leans against the chair while he waits, and it's not as warm and comforting as Cecil's thigh was but it will do in the interim. He can hear Cecil moving around in the kitchen, dishes and cutlery and the sound of a laden baking dish being set on the stove.

By the time Cecil comes back, he feels a little more lucid—or—more himself? He feels a little less floaty, though still calm and content, and when Cecil takes his hand and pulls him to his feet he's only a little bit disappointed.

"Oh," he says as his knees straighten. "Ow. We must've been sitting there for a while, huh."

"You're in pain?"

"Not much. Just a little stiff." He bends his knees, working the stiffness out, leaning on Cecil's hands for balance. "I'm all right."

He lets them lead him into the kitchen, where dinner is already plated on the table. Two plates, which is a little bit disappointing. Cecil sees him seated before taking the seat across from him.

"How are you feeling?" they ask.

"Good. Calm. A little more solid now." He takes a bite, moans around it; Cecil is a _fantastic_ cook. "Were you trying to put me under, or was that an accident?"

"Well," they fret, "obviously I knew you _might_ , but I didn't expect... You were pretty deep, for the circumstances."

"I'm not mad, Cecil. It's nice."

"I think you should be more... lucid, while we negotiate, though. Subspace is an altered state of mind. I wouldn't want to influence you unduly."

"Might be better, though, I think. If I'm more relaxed and in tune with myself. And the things that scare me, I'll have a better idea if they'd scare me in context."

"The things that scare you?" Cecil prompts.

"Mm. Yeah." Carlos ducks his head and shrugs. "Um, discipline, was one of them. I want to try it, I think? But I worry... that it might feel too real. I don't want to _really_ disappoint you." 

"You couldn't."

"Yes, I could. Remember our second date?"

Their second date is a legal fact and a total fiction: Carlos had forgotten it entirely in the wake of a breakthrough on the clocks project. The paperwork is on file at City Council, all done preemptively except the end-of-date report. Which Cecil had filed, in the form of a café napkin with STOOD UP written on it in mustard.

"Well," Cecil hedges. "That's quite a different thing, I think..."

"But it's the sort of thing that you could discipline me for, and... It'd just be. Too real. To be submissive while you were actually angry at me, or... or if I had actually hurt you."

"Hmm." Cecil chews thoughtfully, and Carlos takes a bite of his own, leaving them to formulate a response. Eventually, they put their fork down and say, "It might be worth considering this in two different ways."

"Oh?"

"Well. Some people like punishment as an excuse to play. It builds a narrative around pain that some people need. For that, one generally invents misdeeds, things that neither party has any true feelings about."

Carlos nods. "Makes sense..."

"On the other hand," Cecil continues, "some people find the pain itself a narrative, a necessary step that must be taken before forgiveness can be accepted."

"Oh! Like a ritual." Carlos taps his fingers on the tabletop, considering. "It would have to be synergistic—that is, the dom would have to truly forgive, by the end. They couldn't just do it for the sub and still be angry afterward."

Cecil nods. "Painplay while angry is generally a bad idea anyway. I had a punishment dynamic for a little while, once. We'd wait until we were both calm and we'd discussed it, and then, yes, the punishment was just a ritual. Cleansing. And forgiveness and cuddles afterward."

"And your sub liked that?"

"Ah. Um. Not—precisely. It worked for us both."

Carlos furrows his brow in thought—and then feels his whole face open up with the realization. " _You_ were the sub. Did you... you didn't want to tell me?"

Cecil shrugs. "You already know I'm a switch, but it takes... a sort of faith, I think, sometimes. The less you have to think about me submitting, the easier it will be to hold on to that faith."

"The faith... that you are a capable dominant," Carlos says. "Worth submitting to."

"Yes."

"Cecil..." It's not about gender, any more than anything else is—and with the two of them, everything and nothing is about gender. But Carlos has to take a moment to appreciate the irony, that _he_ should be reminding _Cecil_ of this. "Binaries are for computers. I am capable of accepting you as being more complex than the far extreme of a linear spectrum. This, kink, this is all already way more complex than a simple linear spectrum. Knowing about times you submitted doesn't make you any less dominant during _these_ times, now, with me." He offers a smile. "I think I know what you mean when you say 'faith', but that's not the word I would use. I would say 'trust', and 'evidence'."

Cecil shifts in their seat. "You've hardly got much evidence..."

"Haven't I?" Carlos leans in. "How about the excellent way you took care of me last night? How about the hours we spent this morning talking, at your urging, so that you could do your best by me? How about the way you talked me into subspace without even trying, and then brought me out of it again so gently I hardly noticed? How about the unwavering fact of your attention and concern?" He leans back with a firm nod. "I have plenty of evidence."

"Well." Cecil grins. "That's me told, I suppose. I hope I can continue to do right by you."

Carlos gives a little laugh and shakes his head. "I can't imagine anything else." He takes a bite, trying to bring his thoughts back on-topic, and finding he can't remember what the topic was. "Um, what... How did we get here? We sort of keep... taking detours."

"Um... evidence, faith, I'm a switch—oh, discipline dynamics. I think I was saying that 'it feels too real' is more of a concern with the second type—the ritual forgiveness type—and if you wanted to we could play with the first type, more, and see if that's fun for you."

"Do you have a preference? When you're domming, I mean."

Cecil shrugs. "If someone needs me to make up a story before they can enjoy being beaten, I can do that. It's not any more or less satisfying than a straightforward sort of 'hey I feel like some impact play tonight' scene. But I find ritual comforting, and I suspect that as a dom I would find it just as soothing as I did as a sub."

Carlos sits up a little straighter. "The ritual itself could be anything, couldn't it? Something to mark the transition into forgiveness. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a punishment; anything could carry the meaning as long as both parties agreed."

"Theoretically, yes..."

"You sound dubious."

Cecil shakes their head. "There's no reason to let my submissive preferences influence your thinking. I wouldn't like it, as a sub, but that's irrelevant. What matters is whether _you'd_ like it."

Carlos looks down at his plate. "Maybe—leave that one alone for a while? See how everything else shakes down, and... and if it becomes relevant, and feels right, then we can reopen the discussion."

"Of course." Cecil goes quiet; when Carlos looks up, they're frowning thoughtfully at him. "Carlos, do you need a break?"

"A break...?"

"From negotiation. A chance to let everything we've already talked about settle in your mind. It's a lot to take in all at once."

"It is." Carlos glances—wistfully, he knows, as ridiculous as that is—toward the living room, where the checklists are. "I want to keep going, I want to know everything..."

"A lofty goal," Cecil says, with a smile.

"An impossible goal," Carlos admits. "Which is sometimes an inspiration and sometimes a source of despair. Either way, perhaps you're right; time to put it away for a little while."

"Yes. Or, since we're no longer negotiating and clearheadedness is less of an issue, you could go and fetch that cushion and I could feed you the rest of your dinner."

Carlos is certain his blush shows on his face. For a moment he can't think, and then he can't talk; instead he gets up and fetches the cushion, dropping it on the floor by Cecil's chair and sinking down to his knees.

Cecil, at least, seems as stunned by this as Carlos was by the suggestion. They recover faster, and stroke a hand over Carlos' hair. " _Good_ boy," they purr, and the praise in that voice settles warm and soft in Carlos' chest.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, and manages a slightly hoarse whispered, "Green."

"Keep your hands in your lap for me, all right, Carlos?"

"Yes." Carlos frowns and adds, "Is there a particular form of address you prefer...?"

"Just my name will do." Cecil leans across the table and snags Carlos' plate. "Though it's not required. We've swapped spit enough that you don't mind eating off my fork?"

"No, Cecil. I mean, yes, Cecil. I mean—it's fine. I like your spit."

He's not trying to make a show of it, but they hold his gaze and so he feels compelled to hold theirs in return as he opens his mouth, accepts the food and wraps his lips around the fork. The tines drag at his lips, and Cecil's eyes are dark and heated and possessive.

This time he can feel himself going under, and it _does_ feel floaty. He takes food off Cecil's fork when it's offered to him, leans into the touch of their hand as they stroke his hair or wipe a line of sauce from the corner of his mouth. They feed him slowly, taking bites for themself in between, and each bite adds to the warmth in Carlos' chest.

Periodically, they put a glass to his lips, and he closes his eyes to focus on this, on the coordination required not to spill all over himself. He gives a soft grunt when he's had enough, and they take the glass away.

"Feel full?" they ask, a long quiet time later.

"Mm-hmm. S'good." Carlos' hands are still and quiet in his lap, his eyes and his attention fixed on Cecil. He watches them patiently, with no expectation, just trust and acceptance. They'll do the right thing—they'll guide him to the right thing.

Maybe this is the faith Cecil was talking about. Carlos is okay with that idea.

"How are your knees?" they ask.

"Good."

"We'll see." They stand up and hold their hand out for Carlos. He takes it, lets himself be pulled to his feet, relishing in the stiff ache of his knees. It's all sensation.

Cecil touches his cheek, and that's sensation, too; he tilts his head up, giving them the room to brush their fingers back toward his ear and then down his neck. They toy with the top button of his shirt, knuckles brushing Carlos' skin just below his suprasternal notch.

"I'm going to undress you now."

Their _voice_. Carlos shivers; their voice is like silk, wrapping him up and caressing all his exposed skin. He wants _more_. "Yes."

They move slowly, but deliberately, spreading their hands over his body as it's revealed. This binder is a full-length pullover-style, and there's not much to feel through it, but Cecil touches him like they're learning his darkest secrets.

Maybe they are. Maybe they're just helping him learn his own secrets.

Perhaps it should feel strange or wrong to have them at his feet, but when they kneel to take off his shoes he looks down at their bent head and feels just as much below them as he ever has. Or... not _below_. Just...

The words don't matter, he decides, lifting his feet one at a time so Cecil can peel off his socks. Just the feeling, and the feeling is good. Safe and warm, with just that hint of darkness that Cecil always carries. Sweet, with sharp teeth.

They tug his jeans and briefs off together, then press their face in at the juncture of thigh and groin, breathing deeply. "You smell fantastic," they murmur, almost inaudible against his skin, hands sliding up his legs to grip the binder's lower edge. "I want to take this off you."

"I want you to."

It comes off so much more easily with help. Carlos puts his arms up and wriggles down as Cecil stands, and then stays on his knees, rubbing harshly at his breasts and breathing deep.

When he looks up again, it strikes him: he is here, naked, on his knees in front of Cecil, who is standing and fully-clothed still, sharp teeth showing only as an irregularity in their smile. 

He's not even sure how it affects him, but it _does_ , sending a strange jolt through him that he doesn't know how to name, doesn't even know whether it's a good feeling or a bad one. And Cecil notices, and crouches down to his level, working one hand into the hair at the base of his skull. "All right, Carlos?"

"I..." Carlos shakes his head, trying to find the words. Trying to remember how to say the words. It takes him a moment, but Cecil is patient and doesn't push, and eventually he manages, "Yellow."

"We'll stop right here, all right? Do you want to sit down?

Carlos shakes his head. The motion nearly dislodges Cecil's hand, so he presses his own over it, keeping them close. "Just," he breathes. "Just... Time. Some time."

"All the time you need, love."

His eyes haven't left Cecil's face, so he sees the moment they realize what they've said. Their face falls, and they open their mouth, and then close it again, and it's that more than anything that steadies Carlos. They are human, as he is human (maybe not _exactly_ as he is human), and they hold this power over him because he has given it to them. They will make mistakes, and sometimes, like now, they will not be sure what to do for him, but they will never intentionally hurt him.

"It's okay, Cecil," he says, and the words come easily now. "I'm not ready, and you've been good to wait, but... it's okay. That's okay."

"Okay," Cecil echoes. Their thumb slides across Carlos' nape, and he closes his eyes and breathes, reminds himself that he can lose himself for a little while. Cecil will keep track of him.

He looks at them, the concern and affection in their face, and nods slightly, letting his hand fall back to his lap. "Green."

"Good." Their free hand lands on his knee. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Just... got a little overwhelmed, I guess. I don't think there's anything you could have done differently."

"All right." Cecil leans in and kisses him, warm and soft, all lips. It's gentle until the moment it becomes fierce all at once, Cecil's hands on his hip and in his hair yanking him to press against their body, their tongue forcing its way into his mouth. 

He moans helplessly, hands rising to touch and then fluttering back down; perhaps he doesn't have permission. Does he need permission? He thinks he wants to need permission. He'll have to tell them, somehow. Later.

"We're going to try something new this time," Cecil says, their fist loosening and stroking through Carlos' hair. They stand up with their hand still tangled, near the ends now rather than the roots. "Come with me. Hands and knees."

They move slowly enough that Carlos can comfortably keep up, tugging gently at the hair still caught in their hand. It's a leash, a leash made out of his own body—he's being _walked_ , like a pet, like a dog. He can't even raise his head to look where he's going; the hair at his nape is too short. He has to trust Cecil not to lead him into anything.

He _does_ trust Cecil not to lead him into anything.

"Stay there," they say, a few steps after linoleum gives way to carpet. Their hand slips free of his hair, and he raises his head to watch them settle into their chair, almost within arm's reach.

Their hand lands on the pile of papers, though their eyes are still on Carlos. "You made a note in here, under 'masturbation nominally against your will'; you said, 'not the same as under instruction'. Remember?"

"Yes. Um, yes, Cecil."

Cecil smiles at the correction. "Very good. Is masturbating under instruction something you'd like? You neglected to say."

"I... Oh." Carlos has to close his eyes for a moment, head dropping down between his arms. He can't find 'yes', or even a nod, but he looks back up into Cecil's eyes and says, "Green."

"All right then." Cecil smiles, amused. "Sit back on your heels, if that's comfortable, and cross your wrists at your back. And you're to tell me if it becomes uncomfortable, understand?"

"Yes, Cecil."

"Spread your knees. I want to see you."

"Yes, Cecil." Carlos keeps his eyes fixed on them, the way they drink in the sight of him.

"Beautiful boy. Look how hard you are. You want to touch, don't you?"

Does he? He shifts his hips in an attempt to relieve the seeking hot tension in his belly. He _wants_ , yes, he wants so very much, but his own touch... He wants what Cecil wants.

Cecil doesn't make him answer, though. "A nipple," they say, as though deciding out loud. "Give it a little pinch. A twist, if you like."

Carlos does, leaving his left hand half-curled and still at the small of his back. The obedience is a pleasure, and there is one brief moment of bright feeling, but otherwise the action itself is sensationless, and he doesn't react to it.

"How does it feel?" Cecil asks, almost a purr, and Carlos considers following the script, 'it feels good, Cecil'—it would hardly even be a lie. 

But—they've undertaken this entire process so far with total honesty. He knows Cecil better than to think a half-truth would satisfy them. So he says, settling his hand once more at his back, "Like not much of anything. It's not—it's only my hand."

"Show me something you like, then," Cecil says. Their voice is warm, their gaze calm and untroubled, and a moment which could have felt like an awkward mistake becomes something else entirely. Carlos feels as though there is _pride_ in their gaze, and he lets the feeling settle around him as he considers what he should do for them.

He holds their gaze at first, his hands landing lightly on his chest, just above his breasts. He slides his palms up, over his collarbones and neck, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as his fingers tangle in his hair. He has a lot of hair, plenty for two fistfuls; he tightens his hands and pulls.

Cecil _squeaks_. Carlos grins, wishing he could see the look on their face, but holding the pose, the tension in his hands and his scalp.

"Stop," Cecil says, hoarse, and Carlos relaxes, leaving his hands where they are but dropping his chin to look at Cecil. Their hands are pressed to their knees, their eyes wide and dark; their voice actually sounds distorted from the shape of their teeth. "Put your hands down, I can't... Merciful Heavens, Carlos."

"Are you all right?" Carlos lets his hands drop to his lap. Every signal their body is giving off screams arousal, pleasure, but their voice, their words—frustration?

"I had a lot more I wanted to do tonight," Cecil says, slowly, carefully. "I did not plan to come in my pants like a _teenager_."

Carlos catches his breath. He has _power_ like this, on his knees with his most vulnerable places exposed; he has Cecil in the palm of his hand. 

He crosses his wrists again at the small of his back and says, trembling, his body yearning toward Cecil's, "Command me." He will take Cecil's direction and carry it out impeccably, he will be the best Cecil has ever had, he will startle and delight them and he will _revel_ in it. He will be perfect.

"Touch," Cecil tells him, and he does, sliding his hands over his skin and reveling in both sides of the sensation, and in Cecil's attention and desire. Down his thighs, up his sides, nails across his belly—he manages to surprise himself and make the muscles in his abdomen jump. 

And then, slowly, so Cecil can tell him to stop if they want to, he slides his left hand up into his hair and his right down, over and then past his dick, to the wet space behind it. He slicks up his fingers, and then pauses, tense with wanting and with obeying.

"Wait," Cecil says, unnecessarily. "Come here and sit in front of me. Kneel up, with your back against my knees."

Carlos crawls to them, still holding eye contact, wet right hand curled in a fist to keep from tracking slick onto the carpet, to keep from getting lint into his slick. He only breaks eye contact once he reaches them, to turn and kneel up and press his shoulder blades against their knees.

Their hands are bigger than his, but he still has enough hair for two fistfuls; they gleefully pull his head back, forcing his spine into an arch over their knees. He struggles briefly against the grip, but doesn't want to get away; he settles, looking up at them, mouth open.

Cecil's hands in his hair are fierce, but their expression is tender and awestruck. Carlos feels that look like a caress, all over his body, and shivers. There's a shift in the way Cecil's hands hold him, and then their mouth covers his.

It's all unfamiliar angles, and Carlos tastes blood more than once, and he finds himself struggling again, wriggling to release the hot stretched-out tension in his gut. Cecil draws back, with one last nip at his lip, and says, voice rough, "Do it. Touch yourself."

Carlos has never made much noise with masturbation. Noises come with surprise, or with pleading, both things that require a partner; the touch of his own hand is never a surprise, and he never has to plead with himself.

But the first touch of his fingers to his dick is _electric_ , he's so turned on, and Cecil's hands are still knotted up in his hair and their face is so close he can feel their breath, he can _breathe_ their breath, and all that tension flows downward and he moans, shocked by how close he already is.

"Slowly," Cecil says, right in his ear. "I want you as desperate as I am. I want you broken down, in pieces for me. Hot and jagged and barely holding together, the void tearing at your skin and you so hungry for it, for oblivion, held just on the edge of despair. Can you do that for me, my sweet Carlos, my obedient Carlos, can you bear that for me?"

Carlos can't find words, but he _growls_ , a hot noise surging up from the places where he already feels broken. It doesn't relieve anything, but it wasn't meant to; he does not seek to be soothed now.

Cecil pulls at their grip on his hair and he cries out, a plea, a demand, and Cecil says, " _No_."

His hands fall to his thighs, clenching in frustration. "Cecil!"

"Good boy," Cecil says, soothing, and it shouldn't be, it should be patronizing and irritating, but it _is_ and Carlos relaxes. "Good boy," they say again, freeing one hand to pet gently at his face. "I will break you, Carlos, I will shatter you into a thousand pieces, but know that I will always put you back together afterward. I will taste your despair, and just when you think it's the last thing you'll ever feel I will set you free of it. You'll have what you need from me, always, no less."

"Cecil," he pants, squirming. "Cecil, I need, I need, _please_..."

"I know what you need," Cecil says, gentle, soothing. "I'll take care of you." They reach down and pluck at one of Carlos' nipples, making him gasp.

"Cecil, please..."

"Touch," Cecil commands him, rolling his nipple between their fingers. Carlos touches, even more desperately close than last time, his dick sliding between thumb and two fingers. " _Slowly_ ," Cecil says, sharp, and Carlos whines but slows down.

"Please, Cecil," he begs, not certain what he's asking for. "Please, please..."

"I will give you what you need," Cecil says again, yanking at their fistful of hair. 

Carlos cries out, tearing his hand away from himself and writhing with the force of the deferred orgasm. "I want to _come_ ," he wails, pulling in earnest against Cecil's grip. "I want it, I _want_ it, Cecil!"

"You'll come when you need to, and no sooner," Cecil says. "You were very good, to stop before I told you to. I think that deserves a reward."

"A reward," Carlos repeats, blankly.

"A distraction," Cecil says, and lets go of his hair.

He slides off their lap, sinking down onto his heels with a soft surprised noise; he hadn't noticed how much of his weight Cecil was holding.

"Turn around," they tell him, over the sound of a zipper. He turns on shaking knees and finds them with their jeans open, stroking themself slowly. "I'll let you pick, whether you want to use your mouth or hands for this."

"Mouth," Carlos says immediately, before he realizes he's going to. He feels his face heat but doesn't let himself look away, and as a result he gets to see the pleased curl of Cecil's lips. "Or... both?"

"Hands behind your back," Cecil says, and Carlos obeys. They guide his head down with a hand in his hair, a much gentler hand this time, and he closes his eyes and opens his mouth and lets himself be used.

And Cecil _uses_ him, guiding his head where they want him and giving him soft murmured instructions—nothing more than "Use your tongue," or "Tighter, squeeze your lips tighter;" all responsibility for movement and speed is Cecil's.

It means Carlos doesn't have to think, or take responsibility for anything; in particular, it's not his own job to stop himself from coming. He lets his mind sink down, tuned to the frequency of Cecil's pleasure, listening to them build up and up—  
—and at the last moment, they pull his head off and away. He stares at them, their unfocused eyes and flushed skin, uncomprehending. Something else was supposed to happen, he's sure.

"Move back," Cecil tells him, sliding to the floor. They're on level ground with him now, eyes almost level, until Cecil scoops Carlos up to straddle their lap. As part of the same motion, it seems, they tilt backward to lie flat, and urge Carlos up the length of their body with their hands on his hips.

"Cecil...?"

"You've been very good," Cecil purrs. "Let me return the favor." They have to awkwardly tuck their arms under Carlos' legs, and then they brace Carlos' thighs in their hands and lean up to—to _lap_ at him, to cover his dick with their mouth and _lick_.

"Fuck," Carlos whines, every scrap of heat and tension returning to him in an instant. "Fuck, Cecil, I—I'm not going to last, I'm close..."

Cecil makes a satisfied noise in the back of their throat and keeps going, their fingers digging harshly into the thick fat of Carlos' thighs. Carlos curls over them, trembling with the effort of not coming, realizing his hands are still behind his back and wishing he dared, wishing he wanted to dare to move them, to hold himself up.

Instead he presses his face into the seat of Cecil's chair, still warm from their body heat. He squirms, trying to lift himself away from their mouth, but they grip his hips and drag him back down.

"Cecil," he gasps, finally. "Cecil, you need to stop, I can't hold it back any longer—"

Cecil grunts a negative, and doesn't stop.

"Cecil, I'm going to _come_!"

"Nn- _hnn_ ¬," Cecil growls, an emphatic positive— _permission_. Carlos gasps and cries out and relaxes into the pleasure, and his orgasm takes him almost instantly, clenching his entire body and forcing a thin wail from his lungs. 

Finally, it fades, his muscles loosening up and letting him catch a breath. Cecil wriggles out from beneath him and then presses against him from behind, their arousal pressing into the soft flesh of his ass. For a moment, as their hands land on his hips, he thinks they're going to fuck him, like in so much of the porn he's watched; he's weak and shaky and wet, it would be easy, just pull his hips back and shove into him. The thought is almost as arousing as it is terrifying, and he makes a little soft unhappy noise.

"Shh," Cecil says, gentle, hands sliding up and down his sides. "You're all right, Carlos. You were so good for me, you did so well."

"Don't," Carlos says, pulling away, pushing their hands off him. "Don't—I don't want—" But he regrets it almost as soon as they've stopped touching him, and he turns around and presses back against them, barely registering the way they're holding themself away, hands up.

He doesn't know how to articulate what's wrong—Cecil would need to know so much more than they already do; it's not just the threat of penetration, it's the thought that he _wants_ it, that his body would betray him not just by having the wrong parts but by _enjoying_ them. He knows, of course, that that's not the way to think about it; there's nothing wrong, nothing unmasculine about his body, and he'd fight anyone who tried to imply otherwise, but knowing and _knowing_ are not the same thing.

"What's wrong, Carlos?" they breathe into his hair, arms settling cautiously around his shoulders.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. No, not _nothing_ , but. It's okay now. You couldn't've known— _I_ didn't know." He finds that he can't stop talking now that he's started. "I just, I thought you were going to—I mean, no. Not that I thought you _would_ , I trust you. But I... My brain recognized the possibility that you _could_ , and I, I wanted it and I _don't_ , I don't want it at all, and I hate that I want it, and I just needed... for it not to be such an immediate possibility."

Cecil is quiet for a long moment, hands stroking and stroking his hair, and he relaxes into them. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into their collarbone. "I _do_ trust you."

"Shh," Cecil says. "You don't need to be sorry." They tilt his face up for a kiss, but he shakes his head and turns away. "No?"

"Not with," Carlos gestures, "all over your mouth. I—Sorry."

"It's fine," Cecil says, and means it. "I want to get you snuggled up with a warm drink. Cocoa okay?"

"You're being so nice to me," Carlos mumbles. "I don't..."

"Yes, you do. Of course you do." Cecil stands up, offering their hands to Carlos and pulling him up beside them. They lead him gently to the couch and wrap him up in a soft blanket that's been waiting there. "I'll be right back, okay, Carlos? You did good for me and now I need to take care of you."

Carlos nods, curling up and snuggling down. Cecil presses their forehead to his, and he holds his breath but leans into the contact anyway.

"The TV remote is just there," Cecil says. "I think it's already tuned to the science channel. I'll be back soon."

"Mm-hmm," Carlos says, but doesn't reach for it. He watches them leave, notes their softness; he's killed the whole mood. Science Channel and cocoa when it should have been orgasms, one for Cecil and—maybe—two or three more for him. Just because he hadn't trusted them enough.

"Don't," Cecil tells him, coming back to the sofa with a tray and a concerned expression. At his questioning look, they hand him a mug and say, "You've got it written all over your face. There's nothing for you to be sorry for."

"Isn't there?"

"Not at all." Cecil settles beside him, cradling their own mug and balancing the tray on their lap. They don't seem inclined to explain further, which is fine with Carlos; he doesn't want to hear them reassure him.

He takes a tentative sip of his cocoa and hums at the flavor. "There's cinnamon in this." He takes another sip. "Not just cinnamon... cayenne?"

"Just a bit," Cecil agrees. "It's good?"

"Just like Mama used to make." Carlos feels better despite himself, and leans his shoulder against Cecil's. "You're really not disappointed?"

"I wish you were happy," Cecil says, slinging one arm around his shoulder. "That's all. I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better."

"Mm," Carlos sighs. He sips at his cocoa, breathing in the spice of it, and then says, "That's not a bad start."

It's hard to be upset when Cecil's pressed up against his shoulder, with a warm mug in his hands and the taste of almost his mother's cocoa in his mouth. He feels instead just a little wrung out, and a little blank, but it's peaceful.

"Are you staying here tonight?" Cecil asks, a long time later.

"I... Yes? I can go if you want me to." He yawns, and adds, in a moment of boldness, "I'd rather stay." 

"I want you to stay," Cecil says, and presses a kiss to his temple.

 

There's more to talk about. They'll get there. Eventually, Carlos will have to explain, _really_ explain about penetration, and Cecil hasn't even finished reading his checklist, and there must be so much more he can't even conceive of.

But that's for later. Right now, Cecil's reaching for the remote, and there's a Mythbusters rerun marathon on, and Carlos finds that TV and cocoa is a perfect end to the evening, as long as Cecil's there beside him, loving him, taking care of him.

If he didn't remember what Cecil had said about 'an altered state of consciousness', he might say that certain thing himself. Instead he holds on to it, rolls the words around in his mouth and accustoms himself to the taste of them. Like rich honey, like fresh bread, like cinnamon and cayenne in his cocoa.


End file.
